Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 29 - Space and time - Part Two

 

Looking at the changes to the village, I was reminded of the good I could accomplish with my position as a leader. Granted, there would be more violence in the near future, barring the Slavers unconditional surrender or sudden and complete disappearance. But that violence could be controlled, restricted to those most deserving.

 

I had spent many hours over the past few days establishing acceptable codes of conduct for war with Osa. All of which was under the expectation that as Stone Well’s Overseer, Osa would be responsible for those under his command. The code of conduct would be considered loose and potentially open to abuse by modern Earth standards, but considering the brutality of the conflicts, I didn’t see much of a choice. If I was too strict, our enemies would abuse our code of conduct to inflict greater casualties or escape judgement altogether.

 

At its most simple, children and civilians were entirely off-limits for lethal violence and were to be taken alive wherever possible. Adult civilians who were committed to violence would be left to the discretion and best judgement of the warriors involved. Enemy warriors were only to be taken prisoner if they surrendered, discarded all weapons, and submitted to being bound.

 

None of the girls knew much about the inner diplomatic workings of Variant tribes and clans, but from conversing with the villagers I was under the impression that the conflict would very likely end with Gargant and his inner circle being put to death. Some had extended the requirement to anyone actively participating in slavery, while others would be content with just the death of Gargant. As best I could tell, those who had lost immediate family members were the more zealous, while those relatively unaffected, mostly the Flowing Water tribe, were content to just see an end to the conflict.

 

My primary reason for establishing the code of conduct was that I couldn’t risk getting personally involved in subjugating the Ironhills tribe. Another Commander being generated like last time was liable to generate far more casualties than my presence would otherwise prevent. I didn’t want to give the Labyrinth an excuse to make a quest out of it. So far as I was concerned, after all the nomad tribes were inducted into the alliance, and their warriors sufficiently trained, a combined force would bring down the Iron Hills tribe and absorb those who remained into their own ranks.

 

Osa had sent hunters on the backs of Razorbeaks as emissaries to the remaining tribes, offering Ward’s and the hunters as escorts to see them travel to Stone Well that much sooner than they would otherwise. The first of the remaining nomad tribes were expected to arrive in the next couple of days, assuming they accepted the offer, and the next a couple days after.

 

The lower floors of the Labyrinth didn’t seem particularly large without natural obstacles delaying and dragging out travel. By Izsa’s own account, Stone Well was a single day’s journey from the Guild’s foothold on the back of a Razorbeak, and the Iron Hills were only two more beyond that. Of course, on foot and encumbered, the trip would be much longer, and more so without a Ward to secure relative safety.

 

What no one had been able to explain, to my satisfaction at least, was why exactly the nomads hadn’t just settled in Stone Well or made their own fortified villages. The best explanation I could think of, was that the nomads had access to hidden caches of water of their own, or preferred staying mobile to try and avoid the Slavers.

 

Uncovering the information I had managed thus far was largely due to my time spent at the weavery. Not so much for the prospect of Beast mounts as rewards, as the ‘exotic’ clothing designs contained in my memories. While describing and sketching articles of clothing was mortifying at first, it wasn’t so bad once I resigned myself to it. Or it wasn’t until Clarice found out about the murals in the weavery and made it her life’s mission to make me feel like a lecherous perv.

 

Amongst other things, my Mum had taught me to sew and tried to teach me dressmaking as a vain attempt at trying to enable a reverse Cinderella story scenario. I wondered how she would feel about my relationship with Lash and whether she would approve of her.

 

My Mum had been a pretty down to earth person in most respects, but she had spent a great deal of time ‘polishing’ me in an attempt to make me ‘marriage material’. Dance and cooking classes, women’s clothes shopping, community culture night events, anything she thought might get me across the line. Not that she would have ever admitted to it. Taking some time to reflect, I realised that she had been preparing me to live on my own as well.

 

I was distracted from my musings when Kestrel stopped by to provide a report from Sanctuary.

 

“The gateway seems to be going well on their end, but Ril is demanding a lot of manastones to complete it. Overseer gric estimates it will take another five days before the gateway is completed,” reported, rattling off the information off the top of her head before she could forget anything. “Trade with the merchants is going well and the army has begun commissioning armour and weapons to equip the Port Gidian militia and reservists. Baron, erm, Field Marshal Klive, is requesting permission to extend Port Gidian’s boundaries to accept another wave of settlers-”

 

“Why not form another Settlement?” I asked curiously.

 

Kestrel nearly choked and gave me a surprised look, “You would let us form other Settlements?” She asked incredulously.

 

“Depending on who is put in charge of them, I was under the impression that the army wanted other military bases from the beginning,” I explained, “Not just on the third floor, but on higher floors as well. ‘For training purposes’,” I quoted somewhat ironically. Given how gungho they were about rapidly expanding their first Settlement, and filling it with civilians, I could only imagine that the coming war was not projected to go in their favour.

 

Kestrel gulped dryly and had trouble looking me in the eyes, somewhat confirming my assumptions. “Aherm, uh, is there a procedure we should follow for requesting new Settlements?” Kestrel asked a little awkwardly.

 

“For the third floor?” I clarified, “Do you have a map?”

 

Kestrel nodded and quickly retrieved a rough map of the third floor from a case on her belt.

 

Using a nub of charcoal, I marked off the entire swamp a day’s travel north of Port Gidian and along the river. “No settling within a day's travel, by road, from that border. Sanctuary will grow in time, and so will the other Settlements. Best to keep a respectable buffer as a contingency for the future. Otherwise, I will need to vet your candidates for Overseer personally, be provided a marked map with planned Settlement locations and have assurances that any form of banditry be dealt with severely.” The more humans that were brought into the area, the more difficult it would be for the army to keep an eye on them. It would only be a matter of time before ‘opportunists’ arrived on the scene.

 

Kestrel nodded and was jotting down notes on a nearby wall with a piece of charcoal, likely intending to remove it once she relayed the message to her superiors. “Uh, we haven’t managed to unlock any Druids of our own yet,” Kestrel hedged, “Would we be able to borrow Druids from Sanctuary?”

 

“Have your superiors considered using Pact Binders?” I asked, knowing full well they hadn’t.

 

Kestrel furrowed her brow in intense thought for a moment, “The Advanced summoning Class?” She asked uncertainty, “How would that help?”

 

I raised an eyebrow at Kestrel sceptically, “I think your superiors will have figured it out by now,” I replied dryly. There had been rough slip-ups that at least one of the more perceptive soldiers would have reported their suspicions by now.

 

Kestrel flushed a little and averted her eyes as she made another note on the wall, confirming that they at least had their suspicions.

 

While I wanted Sanctuary to maintain a relative monopoly on the spice trade, I had no problems with the humans competing for cereal crop production. All the more so if they funneled raw mana towards the Druid Daemons development. It only seemed fair considering how the Druids were almost constantly tied to Sanctuary.

 

“Making sure each Settlement has at least one Pact Binder is a good safety measure in case of emergencies,” I insisted.

 

Kestrel nodded and hurriedly wet her dry lips, “Ah, command wants to know if you intend to allow access to your private portal network…”

 

Knowing I should have expected this question, I was still a little surprised all the same. “Perhaps,” I hedged, not having given it much thought yet.

 

“Perhaps a limited connection from Port Gidian to a secure location in Hurst?” Kestrel pressed awkwardly, signalling this was very likely a high priority for the Asrusian leadership. “Hurst is the city outside of this Labyrinth,” she babbled nervously when I didn't reply immediately.

 

“I know,” I replied somewhat dryly. The army already had some means of teleporting their people into the Labyrinth. They had revealed as much on a number of occasions. So their request meant that their current method had problems. Considering the issue, as best I could tell, they were using magic items dropped as rewards by the Labyrinth. If they were, then they probably had finite charges for daily or weekly use.

 

Considering a potential trade, the biggest problem I saw with the prospective arrangement was Ril’s safety. Her perceived value only made her that much more of a target. There wasn’t anything I could think of at the moment that would be valuable enough to compensate for the risks.

 

No doubt interpreting my thoughts through my souring expression, Kestrel held up her hands placatingly, “Just something to think about,” she tried to reassure me, “If you think of something you want in trade, I’ll see if the higher-ups agree.”

 

Just as I was considering moving on to do something else, I realised there was one thing they had that could be valuable enough to risk Ril’s safety. Knowledge. Specifically, the aggregated knowledge of civilization itself. “Your capital city has a library right?” I asked rhetorically.

 

Kestrel nodded uncertainly, apparently not seeing where I was going with the question.

 

“I want it,” I stated concisely.

 

Kestrel’s eyes grew wide and her mouth slackened in surprise.

 

“Books, scrolls, manuscripts, tomes, grimoires, treatises and bookmarks, I want all of it,” I insisted. “You give me the library and I will give you a two way portal to Hurst.”

 

Kestrel gulped hard and nodded anxiously.

 

“I want stone masons too,” I added, “Experienced masters who can train others while building my library.”

 

Kestrel swallowed again and nodded with more energy, shakily noting my demands on the wall.

 

“I assume the library has custodians? Men and women in charge of sorting and looking after the books? I want those who can be trusted and won’t cause ‘problems’,” I added, remembering that someone would have to show the volunteers how to care for my library.

 

Unsurprisingly, Kestrel returned with an answer less than two hours later. Their Lord Regent had agreed to the exchange of the capital library in exchange for the two-way portal from Port Gidian to the city of Hurst. The requested stonemasons, and more besides, would be sent to Sanctuary from Port Gidian with the next wave of settlers. Once the library was finished, or deemed suitable, the contents of the capital library would be transferred.

 

In regards to my allowance of further Settlements to be established, the army had made a list of potential candidates, with more to follow, to be considered for potential travelling companions or liaisons so I could evaluate them personally.

 

Most of the names Kestrel read aloud were completely unfamiliar, and the attached ranks predictably high. I did notice a couple of names that were familiar though.

 

“Are Kristof and Felix the same officers I met in Sanctuary?” I asked for confirmation.

 

Kestrel checked a note next to the name on the list and nodded, “They are,” she confirmed, “Are they disqualified?” Kestrel asked nervously.

 

I shook my head, “No, but Felix has impressed me with his efforts to keep the peace. He is a suitable candidate for Overseer of a settlement near the border. Likewise, Kristof has proven himself an honourable man and I would be willing to give him the opportunity to serve as a Settlement Overseer further south.” Felix had damn near bent over backwards to be accomodating during our early exchanges, so it was pretty much a given that he would preserve the peace. Similarly, Kristof was disciplined and even though he may not be loyal to me, he was well-liked by his men and had Klive's confidence. Considering I was vetting people by the quality of their character, this was enough.

 

Kestrel nodded and began scribbling notes to send back to her superiors.

 

“Why aren’t there any women on this list?” I asked curiously.

 

Kestrel gave me a weird look, “Cpt. Rivers, Lt. Taylor and Ash are all women,” she explained awkwardly.

 

Feeling a little embarrassed, I was still annoyed at the naming conventions of this world. “Not that it will help with this particular problem, but you might want to consider assigning families a second name to identify by when resettling them,” I advised, “It will make finding people in the Totem’s registry that much easier being able to reference where they come from, their first name, second name and the same for their parents if you want to be double sure.”

 

Kestrel quietly made a note of my suggestion, “The reformists have been pushing for something similar,” she explained, “But on the grounds for tax accountability and military service.”

 

That sounded about right.

 

“Did Klive make this list, or was it a compilation?” I asked warily.

 

“I believe it was a collaboration,” Kestrel replied a little uncertainly, “Is there something wrong?”

 

“Have Klive look over the list and remove anyone he wouldn’t personally vouch for. These Overseer positions can cause a great deal of misery in the hands of the undeserving, and I won’t hesitate to revoke them all if the wrong people are suggested for the sake of appeasement.” An irony that wasn’t lost on me as I was basically establishing the double standard for them to appease me, while also selecting qualified candidates whose selection wasn’t motivated by appeasing someone else.

 

Kestrel seemed to have noticed this inconsistency herself, but remained silent as she noted down my demands.

 

“The Settlements arranged a day south of the border will be entitled to all their unlocked Underlord promotions. Port Gidian’s Underlord title taxation will be reduced to a quarter, along with any Settlements established by the river, under the expectation that ships with competent crews patrol the length of the river. Interior Settlements south of Port Gidian will have an expected title tax of half of all Underlord titles. Overseer Klive will be directly responsible for all Settlements south of Port Gidian, while those Overseers stringing the border will be held responsible for themselves.” I felt like rewriting the deal like this would really drive home that I wanted quality people put in charge, not placeholders with fancy titles.

 

With all their Underlord titles intact, the Settlements just south of the border would be ideal for garrisoning and training soldiers. Which would better assist with keeping that border secure in the future. Keeping them independent of Klive’s authority would provide a potential safeguard against any potential rogue elements further south. I had similar intentions for the port Settlements and patrolling the riverway, but I still wanted to keep bargaining leverage for later. As for putting the interior under Klive’s responsibility, it was a none too subtle reminder that precious few of the Asrusians had actually earned my trust and that anyone wanting to rock the metaphorical boat would be Klive’s responsibility to handle.

 

Technically, they would all come under Gric’s purview, but it was better not to make waves by pointing it out.

 

Leaving Kestrel to message her superiors and inform them of the unofficial amendment to our deal that was now on the table, I decided to see whether Mors’s students had made much progress.

 

None of them had unlocked the Druid Class, but rather surprisingly, they had all managed to unlock Apprentice Druid and seemed to be doing reasonably well at the different tasks Mors had set them to.

 

Some were growing olives, others were shaping branches and roots into small chairs and tables, and the most talented appeared to be collaborating on growing a fuzzy orange coloured patch of dawnmoss in the shade of the olive tree.

 

Despite the lack of Advanced Class Druids, Mors still seemed proud of his students' progress and was spending most of his attention and focus on those who were struggling.

 

“You look happy,” I commented with a grin.

 

Thoroughly absorbed in his mentoring, Mors hadn't noticed my approach, so was momentarily startled. “Overlord!” Having overcome his surprise, Mors grinned wide, revealing rows of sharp teeth inside of his toad-like mouth. “Is there something I can help you with?”

 

“No, I just wanted to see how your students were coming along,” I explained.

 

Mors nodded in understanding, “They no longer need the manaflower to control their mana inside the plants!” He explained excitedly, “Some of the most talented are almost ready to begin acquiring Exp and level up.”

 

“What do you mean?” I asked, “Can’t they just level up now? What’s the difference?”

 

“Practice while their perception is weaker compensates for not being hatched able to see mana,” Mors explained excitedly, “It is much better this way!”

 

Taking a few moments to think about it, that made a great deal of sense. Without Hana providing a high synergy bonus to sensing plants, the manaflowers properties were too weak to jump straight to Druid like the Daemons did. So drilling them to work better with what they have just made sense. “Do you think they will still be able to become Druids?” I asked.

 

Mors became pensive for a few moments and then shook his head, “With much more practice, and more levels, it is possible. But not for a long time. This is why training is important.”

 

“Makes sense,” I agreed, “What are they working on?” I pointed to the orange moss.

 

Mors smiled again, “I call it dewmoss,” he croaked in what I assumed was his approximation of laughter, “Because it still sounds like...ahern,” Mors cleared his throat sheepishly, “I made it from dawnmoss, but it is drought-resistant and draws in moisture-”

 

“-Like morning dew,” I smiled and patted Mors on the back, “Good job Mors. I’ll be looking forward to seeing your progress.”

 

Checking in on Hessin and her Shamans, I was surprised to see a number of small spectral orbs floating around the smoke-filled room. Taking a closer look, the spectral orbs looked like eggs, each of them no larger than my thumb. Within each egg was a spark or concentrated mana.

 

After taking a few minutes to think about what I was seeing, I came to the conclusion that the eggs had to be Spirits of some kind, which was weird in and of itself. I guess I had just sort of assumed that the Bleak-Fang’s serpent spirit had just sort of always existed.

 

Looking over at Hessin, I could see an ephemeral snake no longer than her arm draped lazily over her neck like a scarf.

 

Noticing my presence, Hessin motioned to the doorway leading to another room and quietly made her way over. Drawing the thick curtains aside, she waited for me to enter and then followed. “How may I asssisst you Overlord?” Hessin asked anxiously.

 

“I was just curious about the Spirits,” I motioned back to the other room for context, “I didn’t know they hatched from eggs.”

 

Hessin relaxed and smiled, “Inheriting a Sspirit iss rare. Not many have the sstrength to ssurvive the death of the Shaman they are bound to.”

 

I was with her so far, but that still didn’t answer my intended question, “Where did the eggs come from?”

 

Hessin took on a thoughtful expression and took a moment to consider her answer, “The Sspiritss come from within each Shaman, formed from thought, emotion and mana. They are consstant companionss and help power our magic.”

 

“So they are sort of like your child?” I asked curiously.

 

Hessin hesitated in answering and then shook her head, “It iss not the ssame.”

 

Waiting for Hessin to explain herself, all I received was an apologetic shrug. “How are you students doing?” I asked, deciding to change the topic.

 

“They are making progresss,” Hessin hissed happily, then her smile faltered, “Ssome were impatient,” she confessed with a hint of embarrassment.

 

“Impatient? In what way?” I asked, worried that we might be wasting resources on people who would be better off taking more time to consider their potential Class choices.

 

“They all wanted to be Warlockss,” Hessin explained, “They just wanted to the smoke so they could complete the minimum unlock requirementss.”

 

Frowning slightly, I checked Stone Well’s registry and was surprised to see that there were now more than fifty Warlocks. A drastic increase over the single Warlock from a few days ago. While Warlock was not a bad Class, it was still surprising to see so many of a single Class appear at the same time, and that all of them appeared to be from the Flowing Water tribe.

 

“I will look into this,” I assured Hessin and then saw myself out.

 

Walking around the village, I found no sign of the Warlocks. Concluding that they were likely out hunting, I decided to visit Mors again and see if he could provide any insights.

 

“Fifty?” Mors seemed just as shocked as I had been. Becoming unfocused for a moment, Mors extended a mental invitation to an existing mind link.

 

<Tell our Overlord what you have done!> Mors croaked irritably.

 

An unfamiliar presence recoiled at Mor’s rebuke before making itself known, <Overlord?> A mental image of a woman with the body of a snake from the waist down, four arms and covered in scales formed in my mind alongside her true name, Senn. <I am only doing my best to be productive…>

 

<What did you do Senn?> I pressed, wanting an explanation for what was going on.

 

<...Overlord...I encouraged my Pact Bound to recruit more Warlocks so I could forge additional Pacts and fulfil my greater purpose…> Senn’s overwhelming sense of sincerity made it obvious that she wasn’t lying, but the mention of a greater purpose was a little unnerving.

 

<What greater purpose? And why does forming more Pacts help you in reaching that goal?> I demanded.

 

<I believe I understand, Overlord…> Mors volunteered exasperatedly. <Senn is confusing her personal pursuit of power with making herself useful...And Overseer Gric is encouraging it because…> Mors seemed to lose steam and almost sounded sympathetic, <Because managing the Warlock Pacts can be demanding, and Senn hadn’t show interest in doing anything productive…>

 

Recalling what I had seen in Izsa’s Pact, I didn’t remember seeing anything particularly troubling. <Demanding how?>

 

<Well, loaning her mana in accordance to each Pact can leave Senn weakened and vulnerable depending on the timing. Leaching raw mana for personal development will help, but being bound to so many means it will be dangerous for Senn to hunt alone. Even more so when the Warlocks level up and become capable of summoning lesser copies of her to aid them in battle…> Mors shook his head and inflated his throat in frustration.

 

<More Warlocks isn’t better?> Senn asked in confusion.

 

<Not for you it isn’t.> Mors confirmed. <Not unless you unlock one of the Daemon Lord Classes, or earn the position of Overseer.>

 

<Why is that?> I asked curiously.

 

Mors had apparently gotten a little carried away and forgotten I was part of the conversation, saying more than he perhaps intended to. <Uh...Well...A Daemon Overseer is responsible for all the Pacts of Daemons under their authority…And entitled to half their raw mana obtained through Summons and Pacts.>

 

That certainly helped explain why Gric was able to spend so much time administrating and still maintain his lead as the most evolved Daemon. So as best I could understand the issue, Senn was effectively running a small loans bank and had taken on more customers assuming it would automatically generate additional profit. Unfortunately for her, Senn also had to pay a tax on what she earned, resulting in large amounts of work, but little personal gain after considering the risks of the loans.

 

<What about lesser promotions?> I asked curiously. <Do they lessen the amount taxed by the Overseer?>

 

Mors seemed reluctant to answer. <Yes, Overlord. Each tier reduces the ‘tax’ by a nominal amount. An Underlord would lose twenty-five per hundred, a Lord would lose fifteen per hundred, and an Overlord would lose five per hundred serving an Overseer sworn to a Tyrant.>

 

<Tyrant? Is that the next Lordship tier?> It was the first I had heard of it and I was curious to learn more.

 

Mors seemed only too happy to oblige, apparently relieved to be leaving the more unpleasant business behind. <Yes, Overlord. Tyrant is the supreme title of authority above all others!>

 

It was almost disappointing to learn that there was only one level of title higher to go. But after stopping to think about my priorities, my disappointment soon turned to relief. Evolving and levelling were meant to be my current priorities, not titles. Even Stone Well was just a detour in the overall scheme of things, and once Ril succeeded or failed at establishing a portal, we would be moving on.

 

This was why I was focusing so much on delegating responsibilities. I wanted to try and establish a standard procedure for securing Settlements. Although from what I had been told, the Variants of the fifth floor shouldn’t be expected to play nice like the others. Then again, the possibility of challenging a chieftain for leadership of an existing tribe could make things much faster. Of course, this was assuming Ril could create a viable portal network. Otherwise, the extra settlements would be difficult to take advantage of and become more of a liability than a benefit.

 

As much as I wanted to help Senn out of her predicament, I decided that she needed to live with the consequences for a while before I would consider intervening. Besides, I was more concerned by Gric’s callous behaviour than Senn's overeagerness. I could understand that he was trying to be efficient, but there were limits to what I would tolerate. When I returned to Sanctuary, I would need to sit him down for a long chat about abusing the trust his hatch mates have placed in him.

 

After severing the connection with Mors and Senn, I spent the rest of the day trying to get used to riding the Hulking Boar. As it turned out, the board’s limited turning capabilities became an advantage for me, since my early attempts at using the reins one-handed would have sent me flying from the saddle and into the dirt. As is, my fumbling with the reins only caused the Hulking Boar to slow the heck down and attempt the turn it thought I was asking for.

 

The key problem I was facing was balance, and more specifically, its absence the moment I sat in the saddle. While I was showing very small signs of improvement as the hours passed by, my greatest accomplishment was the confidence boost the other people practising gained by watching my spectacular failures. Even so, I stuck at it. Riding would be an important skill for travelling places quickly and fighting faster or larger enemies.

 

Before stopping for the day, Clarice grudgingly allowed me the opportunity to ride Dhizi. The difference was like night and day. Whether it was because Dhizi already was familiar with everything already, or perhaps because of her Intelligence, she seemed to anticipate just about every move I was going to make and made sure to assist in helping me keep my balance.

 

Thoroughly convinced that Clarice had been coasting on Dhizi’s efforts, I was disappointed when Clarice hopped into the boar's saddle and rode it through the obstacle course without any real issues. Making things worse, even Nadine had a try and did far better than I had.

 

When I returned to the house we were staying in, Kestrel was already waiting for me. “Do you have a minute? High command made contact again.”

 

“Might as well,” I grunted and removed my robe before going upstairs and sitting against the wall on the terrace.

 

Kestrel followed, nodding her head as she worked to recall all the information. “They have agreed to the official border arrangement as well as the revised Underlord taxation, and the border Settlements each being independent of Baron Klive’s authority. Lt. Felix and Cpt. Kristof have agreed to serve as border town governors independent of Baron Klive’s authority and jurisdiction, and have requested permission to recruit auxiliaries for support in establishing their Settlements.” Kestrel paused to take a small drink to wet her throat, “Baron Klive has provided a revised list of potential Settlement Overseer candidates,” she patted a pouch at her waist and took a deep breath before continuing, “Your recommendation for each Settlement to have at least one dedicated Pact Binder was given serious consideration and Baron Klive has requested access to someone capable of training them as needed. Lastly, the Lord Regent wanted you to be informed that a law banning the enslavement of Variants within the kingdom of Asrus has been decreed and the Midnight Caravan unofficially granted perpetual amnesty for crimes committed in the pursuit of freeing Enslaved Variants.”

 

Pretty much everything had been what I had expected. But then the Regent’s Emancipation Proclamation blindsided me. Considering how invested he was in colonising the Labyrinth, it made a sort of sense to formally ban enslaving Variants. Especially if he planned for his people to get along with Variants long term. Then again, it just might represent how poorly things were going outside of the Labyrinth. Likewise, pardoning the Midnight Caravan was obviously to get in my good graces, but I wondered how long other kingdoms would take to crack down on them.

 

“Klive’s candidates, how many are there?” I asked, trying to put aside everything else for the time being and focus on being productive.

 

Kestrel removed a small piece of paper from the pouch on her waist and took a moment to count off the candidates’ ranks, “Five. One Colonel, One Captain, Two Lieutenants and a sergeant,” Kestrel replied, “Three men and two women, in case you were wondering,” she added with a smirk.

 

I stifled a snort of amusement and took a few moments to think about how best to approach things. Adding five more Humans to the group could be asking for trouble, but more Settlements secured by the Asrusians on the third floor meant more Underlords for Sanctuary and more allies between Sanctuary and potential threats. “What order did Klive recommend them in?” I asked.

 

Kestrel frowned a little, “Not in order of rank…Or by name...Sorry, there doesn't seem to be an order?”

 

“Or it is in order of his personal recommendation,” I guessed, “Either way, I think we could only bring two more people to the fifth floor.”

 

Kestrel nodded in agreement, “Any more and we will risk being seen from a much greater distance. With so many mounts already, we will be quite visible.”

 

“I figured as much,” I agreed. I was already somewhat concerned about our maneuverability in regards to the forested terrain. The fact that we would stand out like a sore thumb in the open was just begging for trouble.

 

“So who will you take?” Kestrel asked, although she seemed distracted and was bringing out her spyglass.

 

“Something wrong?” I tried looking in the same direction as Kestrel, but saw nothing.

 

“I think the first of your expected tribals are arriving,” Kestrel explained and pointed to a blank space on the evening horizon. “Should probably reach Stone Well in an hour or so...They are bigger than I expected...”

 

“What do you mean?” I still couldn’t see anything and being fed information in dribs and drabs was frustrating.

 

Kestrel seemed to pick up on my tone and spent a bit longer to confirm her suspicions rather than giving play by play observations. “There are two tribes travelling together,” Kestrel reported, “Or at least that is what it looks like.”

 

The Sand Walkers were the tribe we had been expecting, but to continue travelling so late in the evening and in the company of another tribe, was not something anyone had expected.

 

When the Sand Walkers and Fire Dancers arrived outside the gate, it became obvious why they had risked a forced march and united forces. They were being followed. Or, more accurately, they were being chased.

 

Large dust clouds had appeared on the horizon and were continuing to grow closer.

 

That no warning had been provided by Izsa suggested that the pursuers had taken a circuitous route and avoided the Foothold. Whether they were human or Orcs had yet to be seen, but the desperate relief shown by the nomads as they entered the protection of the village was telling enough on its own.

 

“…” Kestrel nearly dropped her spyglass in surprise, her skin paling as an expression of horror settled on her face, “The ground is collapsing…” Kestrel gasped and pointed to the widening dust cloud.

 

Heading to the village centre, I was glad to see the well was intact and seemed to be fine despite the minor vibrations I was beginning to feel through the ground.

 

Mors was in a deep meditative state, surrounded by both his own and Hessin’s students, his toad-like body wreathed in emerald mana. Realising the vibrations were originating from Mors and not approaching dust clouds, I allowed myself a moment to relax and try to see what was going on.

 

Despite the sheer volume of mana Mors was burning through, none of it was directed above ground.

 

A crowd of Flowing Water’s hunters and warriors rushed into the village centre and joined Mors’s and Hessin’s students in coma-like meditation.

 

Like petrol on a bonfire, Mors’s mana flared momentarily, intensifying the vibrations for a few moments before dying down again.

 

Aware that I could distract Mors, I decided to keep my distance. However, as I began to move away, the ground began to violently shake and I stumbled, falling on my hands and knees.

 

People began crying out in fear as the shaking grew worse, running to find shelter in the largest and sturdiest buildings they could find.

 

The distant sound of falling stones was growing closer with each passing moment, matching the intensity of the quakes.

 

With exactly zero experience on what to do during an earthquake, I felt heavily conflicted watching people pack into the nearby buildings. Just a single collapse would be injuring dozens of people, and if the ground opened up...I felt my stomach turn at the thought.

 

Sparing a glance towards Ril’s gate, I wondered if perhaps it would spring to life at any moment and provide a last-minute escape.

 

Pushing such thoughts from my mind and labelling them childish and unhelpful, I shakily got to my feet and began staggering back to Kestrel. While the portal may not provide an emergency escape from the disaster, it might be able to provide relief to the survivors. The best way to guarantee that, was by alerting Sanctuary now and trying to keep them updated throughout.

 

I felt like an idiot for not telling Kestrel to do so sooner.

 

Reaching our borrowed residence, I could see Kestrel lying prone on our roof and panning her spyglass over the wall.

 

“-SHOULD MISS US!” Kestrel shouted to Clarice who had just scaled the opposite side of the building. “SEE?!” She motioned along a section of the wall with her free hand and made an axing motion to emphasize the cut off points.

 

“YOU SURE?!” Clarice, “THAT DUST CLOUD IS FUCKING HUGE!”

 

Not willing to risk the integrity of any of the nearby buildings, I rushed towards the gate to get a look for myself.

 

True enough, the collapse was stirring up a gigantic dust cloud. Not just that, but all the displaced earth and rock was driving the dust outwards at ever greater speeds as the air pressure continued to build in the vicinity of the collapse's inexorable advance.

 

Too low to confirm whether the yawning pit consuming the horizon would in fact miss us, I forced my mind back onto productive matters I could control. Rushing back to Clarice and Kestrel, I gave the former the job of making sure everyone had found shelter and warning of the approaching dust storm, and the latter the responsibility of keeping Sanctuary informed of the disaster approaching our doorstep.

 

Pulling a large tarpaulin, rope, and tent stakes from our supplies, I cried out a simple warning of my own as I made my way towards the well. While most had expected the storm, or were incidentally prepared, I was relieved when people began dividing themselves more evenly into different buildings.

 

Arriving at the village centre, I found it empty except for Mors who was still sitting beneath the olive tree, the faintest flickering remnants of emerald mana still barely visible against his skin.

 

Pulling the tarpaulin over the mouth of the well, I wrapped the excess and corners around the sides as best I could manage and then tied it all together with the rope. Anchoring as many of the eyelets in the tarpaulin’s corners as I could, using my fist as the hammer I looked worriedly back at the darkening sky and felt a mounting sense of worry with each star that disappeared.

 

Having secured the well and its water as best I could, I was left unsure what to do with Mors. For all I knew, Mors was eking out the final changes that would see them through the imminent disaster.

 

My choice became much easier a few moments later when Mors crumpled to the ground unconscious, having depleted the final dregs of his mana.

 

Lifting the spent Daemon onto my shoulder, I went looking for a shelter to wait out the storm and did my best not to think about the ground opening beneath us in the dark and swallowing us whole.

 

*****

 

Having recently depleted most of her mana, Ril assessed the progress of the portal. Forged from solid iron, the giant archway was wrapped in thick roots and vines from the towering trees of Grove. The mana conductive foliage was intended to draw away excess mana or recharge that embedded manastones as required. While the process would take hours, or perhaps days if used too frequently, it was far better than the unsupported prototype Ril had left behind on the fourth floor.

 

Tim’s desire for a functional portal network was very much in line with Ril’s own thinking, although perhaps for different reasons.

 

While the portal network would improve the defensive capabilities of Tim’s forces as a whole, the true advantage would come from subverting the existing network. Assuming Ril became strong enough, she could redirect the permanent portals of the Labyrinth into locations of her choosing, or shut them down entirely. So long as her control was uncontested, Ril would be able to guarantee Tim’s maneuverability advantage within the Hurst Labyrinth.

 

Gently caressing the ironwork of the gate, Ril smiled as she imagined dozens of copies being deployed throughout the Labyrinth. Every nascent memory of her past incarnations defeats confirmed that the Daemons were unable to survive alone. No matter how strong they became, the Labyrinth would disgorge something stronger and eliminate them.

 

Unlike the weaker Daemons, Ril remembered everything. Her previous selves, Daemon Lords, Overlords and Tyrants each in their own right, they each experienced the fall of their species and took great pains to leave records for future incarnations in an attempt to secure eventual victory. Only things were very different this time.

 

According to her memories, Ril would first establish dominance over the weaker Daemons and establish her position at the top of the hierarchy. Second, Ril would choose the strongest to be her lieutenants and guide their evolution in cunning and intelligence so they could serve as commanders of the great army. Third, Ril would set her kin upon hunting down viable female breeding stock so they could swell their ranks with Hybrid Daemons.

 

The breeders wouldn’t be mistreated in any way and would be secured through voluntary means only. A number of incarnations had failed specifically because of hybrids siding with their mothers and instigating rebellions at inopportune times.

 

Once their forces were adequately established, Ril would order the beginning of what her past selves all tactlessly named, the death march. The Daemon and hybrid host would march ever upwards through the Labyrinth in search of...Ril wasn’t exactly sure. Some of her past selves were convinced that the topmost floor had a means of controlling the entire Labyrinth, and that securing it would be equivalent to achieving godhood. Others made the push with the assumption that the Daemons would be untouchable once they conquered the top floor monsters and assimilated their superior genetics. In either case, it had always been enough to sway those undecided.

 

Only, things were not going according to plan. In fact, things had never been so different since Ril’s first known incarnation. Ril had never had a mother…

 

Turning her attention from the cast-iron gateway to the smelting pits, Ril smiled wanly as she watched her mother transmute a mountain of iron ingots into another prefabricated gateway. The Scavenger Class Ability seemed to have roughly an eight in ten chance of failure, but iron ingots were plentiful and could be rapidly resupplied if necessary. Eight such gates were already completed and had passed the smiths inspections. Although they had initially grumbled about their work being ‘copied’ so effortlessly, witnessing the failure rate had gone a long way to balming their bruised pride. Assigning them to assure the quality of successful transmutations had done the rest, allowing the smiths to quibble over minor imaginary flaws to assuage their egos.

 

Taking a step, Ril folded the space between herself and her mother and appeared beside her.

 

Reflexively, her mother drew Ril into a light embrace and gently patted Ril’s damp seaweed-like hair.

 

Affection. This was Ril’s first incarnation having known genuine unconditional affection. She had countless lovers, mates and even diplomatic consorts, but they had always wanted something from Ril in exchange, always had a personal agenda, an ulterior motive.

 

However, this time, before Ril had even hatched, before her memories had time to find her, Ril had been chosen and showered with unconditional affection from her mother. She understood now why the hybrids had betrayed her cause all those many incarnations ago. There wasn’t anything Ril wouldn’t do in order to protect her mother.

 

In a similar sense, Ril felt a connection to Tim as well. While not bonded to him directly, she couldn’t help but feel thankful for his part in bringing Ril her mother. Tim had also accomplished something Ril had never seen before, he had almost completely derailed the Daemons from their primary directives.

 

Ril had served under Lords of the Labyrinth before. Many were maladjusted and self-destructive, allowing Ril to seize control with relative ease. Others had been so traumatised that Ril had been in command in all but name since hatching. There was only one other Lord Ril had served that had been close to Tim’s level of mental and emotional stability. Crowley.

 

Incarnated as a Daemon himself, Crowley was the one who had first set Ril on her path to conquering the Labyrinth. Mental and emotional stability was where the similarities ended. Crowley wanted to conquer the Labyrinth for the godhood he convinced himself was waiting for him. Tim wanted to keep his people safe by giving them the strength to defend themselves.

 

“Baby hungry?” Ril’s mother asked, materialising a haunch of roasted reptile meat in her free hand and offering it to Ril.

 

Rill nodded and took a bite. She was more mana depleted than hungry, but bonding with her mother always filled Ril with a sense of contentment that had been absent in her previous incarnations and Ril wanted to make the most of it.

 

“Metal doors will make TIm happy, right?” Ril’s mother asked uncertainly.

 

Ril nodded enthusiastically, “Yes Mama.”

 

Ril’s mother chewed thoughtfully for a while and then shrugged. While incredibly smart by Goblin standards, Ril’s mother hadn’t quite grasped what the gates were for. She understood that they were for confining and controlling a portal's energy to allow for interdimensional travel, but not why that mattered. It wasn’t her fault. Unlike Ril, she didn’t have a host of past lives to draw information from, instead, Ril’s mother was doing the best she could with what she had learned in a single lifetime of experiences.

 

Besides, Ril couldn’t quite remember exactly which of herselves had discovered the means to execute the great convergence, but she knew that the incarnation in question had been too immature to understand it at the time. Assuming sufficient control was established over the Labyrinth’s portal network, entire floors of the labyrinth could be forced to cohabitate in the same dimension alongside one another. The hexagonal shape of each floor was designed with this in mind, or at least Ril assumed so since there was no other reason for it. The individual pairing of Labyrinth floors was referred to as Convergence and so far as Ril knew, it was permanent.

 

Opening portals across dimensions would be more difficult with each degree of separation. However, Converging the floors together would make travel between those same portals drastically more sustainable. It would also make the converged floors higher level monsters available for harvesting materials or Exp. In a way, it was exactly what Tim wanted. Access to high-level monsters to serve as both a deterrent to the hostile humans, and a means for making his people powerful enough to defend themselves.

 

Savouring the taste of the roasted meat in her mouth, Ril began contemplating exactly how many gates they would need in order to subvert control of the portal network and how best to instruct Gric on ‘negotiating’ with the Humans in order to accomplish it.